


The First Night We Spent Together

by CeleryThesis



Category: Truly Madly Deeply
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6602644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CeleryThesis/pseuds/CeleryThesis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talking was the major component. Allegedly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Tell me about the first night we spent together._

_Why? Seriously? You want me to?_

_What did we do?_

_We talked._

_What else?_

_Well, talking was the major component. You played that piano. Then I played. Then we both played. Something. Duet. Something. Can’t remember. And then you danced for about three hours ‘til I fell asleep. But you were fantastic. And then we had some corn flakes. And when we kissed, which was at about eleven o’clock the following morning, we were trembling so much, we couldn’t take off our clothes._

**Jamie**

He wasn’t going to stay more than twenty minutes. In fact, he was going to time it. In exactly twenty minutes, he was going to thank her for whatever drink she provided, lie about an early session in the morning, and be on his way.

William had forced his hand on this, and Jamie was in no way ready. He had only been apart from Pamela for six months; they had been together for eight years. He had read that it took six months per year to get over a relationship. He still had three and a half more years to wallow.

And even if he were ready to move on, it wouldn’t be with Nina, who was Pamela’s opposite in every measurable way. Pamela was beautiful and broody, true still waters. Nina was…the most positive assessment he could give was that she was cute. Aggressively cute. And loud. And attention seeking. Right then she was telling a story about her office mates, doing accents and wild hand gestures, her ukulele case swinging wildly, almost hitting him. She apparently found the story hilarious. He was only half-listening, if that.

They had been at a club where her band had performed. Nina was the lead singer in what he would generously label as a party band. They were loud and supposedly fun, and more enthusiastic than talented. They played mostly party covers. Nina played bold keyboard and sometimes ukulele, and she belted out lead vocals on most of their songs. William’s brother was the lead guitarist, and somehow Nina had moved into their circle in the last few months.

Jamie and William were half of a string quartet that used to include Pamela and were currently auditioning violists. They also played together in a small orchestra and were studio musicians in on many of the same gigs. He couldn’t afford to annoy first violin, so here he was walking Nina home.

“Here we are,” she said in front of a dodgy building. “I’ll warn you, it’s very, very small.”

_Doesn’t matter; won’t be staying._

She led the way up three flights of steps and then fumbled with keys until she finally opened the door. The flat was indeed small, really just a room, with a tiny kitchen in the corner. Two-thirds of the space was occupied by a much better piano than he would ever expect her to have.

He stepped in and immediately played a few notes. It was in tune.

“My prized possession by far,” she told him and placed her ukulele case on top of it.

“Where did you get it?” _How were you able to afford it?_

“It was my grandfather’s. I was the only one of the children that kept up with lessons, so he left it to me. What would you like? I have wine in white and blush—my tastes run sweet.”

 _Of course they do._ “No, thanks.”

“I have vodka and…” she was searching through the small refrigerator. “orange juice,” she held out the bottle triumphantly.

“Fine, that would be fine.”

She poured them each a screwdriver and handed him a glass that she immediately clinked. “Music and turntable are strategically placed behind and under the piano. I’m going to change. Take your coat off, and boots if you want to.”

He took off the coat, but the boots were staying on; he would be walking home soon.

She was wearing a layered lace skirt that hit above her knees and some kind of vest under a leather jacket. She completed her performance look with fishnet stockings and black lace-up boots. He was mildly curious to see what an at-home ensemble for Nina would be.

He walked over to the piano and played a few bars and then decided to investigate the albums. He had to sit on the floor to see the whole collection, a ridiculously bad design, but he supposed you did what you had to do in a flat this small.

Her collection was almost as big as his although his had suffered greatly when Pamela moved out and took more than she was rightly entitled to. Nina had decent taste with a few appalling choices scattered in the mix. She apparently enjoyed current music more than he did. Her classics were sound, though, both true classical and in the music of her childhood and adolescence.

He pulled out Neil Young’s _Harvest_ and put it on the turntable, He had owned it at university, but he didn’t think he still had it; hadn’t listened to it in years anyway. The familiar guitar and harmonica sounded out of the speakers. He would stay its forty-minute duration. He sat under the piano continuing to browse her music.

Nina had emerged in denims and a plain black jumper, somewhat reassuringly normal. The orange and pink polka-dotted socks were the only divergence. She had washed some of her stage make-up off and now looked even younger than she had before. She planted herself on the floor as well, against the small sofa he assumed must fold out into her bed as there were no other alternatives he could see in the flat. She smiled at him.

“Are you even old enough to own this album?” he asked her.

“I was thirteen when it came out,” she said.

He had been twenty-one or twenty-two. That made her twenty-five or twenty-six now, eight or so years younger than him. He had never been with a woman significantly older or younger. Not that he was _with_ Nina or _would_ be with Nina, he quickly reminded himself.

“I spent every spare pence I had on records. My sister was a saver and used to lecture me, but she also wanted to borrow my records,” Nina said with a little laugh.

“One sister?”

“One sister, eleven months older than me--scandal--and two brothers twelve and thirteen years older.”

“Why scandal?”

“My parents had two sets of children, right on top of each other, but twelve years apart. We can only conclude that they had sex a grand total of four times, and something about childbirth really did it for my father,” she laughed.

“I’m an only child, so I suppose my parents did it but once?”

“I couldn’t begin to speculate. My own parental theory is based on direct evidence of being sired and birthed by the least sexual people ever on the face of the earth.”

“I’m fairly certain that’s a universal belief.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I have loads of friends with sexy parents. I have physical evidence, as well.” She scrambled up from the floor and walked over to the built-in bookshelf, retrieving a framed photo and presenting it to him before settling down on the floor again.

The photo showed five staid brunettes—two parents, two boys, one girl, and one little gingery sprite, curls everywhere, mid-laugh.

“I don’t see asexual; I see every pot having its lid,” he commented. “Anyway, what happened with you, could you have been switched at hospital?” He asked her.

She let go a peal of laughter. “I’m exactly like my aunt, my father’s sister, in looks and temperament. He has never forgiven me for it.”

She took back the photo and placed it again on the shelf.

“Your sister, are you close?” He asked her. He had often fantasized about having a sibling similar in age.

“As close as two people with almost nothing in common beyond family can be. She’s married, has a three-year-old son, my nephew, a kindred spirit.”

“Young to have a child that age.” One of the primary causes of the great schism between Pamela and Jamie had been her readiness for marriage and children and his hesitancy. He had just been able to make his living solely with music and he was not ready to take on more responsibility. In the end it had hastened their doom.

“Frightfully. I can’t even imagine.”

A small tally mark in his mind was etched in her favour. Not that he really cared, of course.

“An only? Do you feel fortunate or deprived?” she asked him.

“Both at different times.”

“I suppose you can’t win ever.”

“Not in my experience, no.” He finished his drink.

“Another?”

“Half?”

“Of course,” she was up again and in the tiny kitchen. He noticed that each time she moved it was to bolt across the room with a purpose.

She returned his drink and stopped to croon with Neil. She had a nice voice, but she tended toward the affected, similar to her stage act. He sang under her quietly. He always sang. There was rarely a situation in life that an appropriate song didn’t rise to the surface. It tended to annoy the people around him, so he tried to keep it inside. Another tally mark was added in her favour. The first side ended and she flipped the record.

She settled down again and picked a piece of lint off his jumper. She was quite tactile. She had continually touched his sleeve or patted his arm on their walk to the flat.

“Cello,” she said.

“Yes.” He wasn’t sure if it was a question.

“Since?”

“I was eight.”

“A prodigy?”

“Not even close. I had taken piano for two years, and my primary school had an orchestra. I wanted to play the bass—because there is nothing cooler than standing upright bass, but then I heard the cello, and that was it.”

“It does have a way,” she smiled at him.

“It’s the sound. It was for me, anyway. I was terrible for years, but the sound... I didn’t have a choice but to try to improve.”

“You succeeded.”

“Thank you. Have you…?”

“I’ve been to several concerts, both the quartet and the symphony,” she said.

He remembered just then that he had actually met her after one of their performances and felt slightly abashed for the question.  “The quartet is defunct at the moment, but perhaps…”

“Yes,” she seemed to understand about Pamela without broaching the subject. “You’ve been full-time how long?”

“Four years,” he answered.

“That’s the dream, right?”

“Yes. Did you ever, do you plan to be a professional…” he wasn’t quite sure what to label her act.

“God, no. You can’t possibly… You’re joking, Jamie,” she laughed again and smacked him in the arm.

“You have a certain style.”

“And that’s it. No, languages are the only thing I’m not utter rubbish at.”

“That’s not true, Nina,” he said, and she looked at him with startled affection, He quickly changed the subject. “Spanish, then, primarily?”

“Yes. I’m competent in French and Portuguese and can get by in Italian. German is a whole different animal, but I’m getting better. Polish is my latest disaster.”

“You translate at your firm…agency?”

“Agency. I translate, give lessons, provide whatever support I can. Did you take a language at...college...university?”

“Italian. Fairly useless except in knowing the origin of musical terms and being able to pronounce them, which I still do very badly.”

“Language is good for completing the cross-word puzzle, though. And I’m unbeatable in forfeits,” she boasted.

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, you’re on, then. Italian…um…colours…and I’ll spot you two.” Her grin was taking over her face.

“I hardly think that’s necessary,” still he was not one to let an advantage go. “Verde, rosso.”

“Verde, rosso, bianco.”

“Verde, rosso, bianco, blu,” he replied.

“Verde, rosso, bianco, blu, giallo.” She paused between each one. Her accent was spot on. He was actually becoming a bit turned on listening to the words and watching the shapes her mouth was making. His strategy was to barrel through.

“Verde, rosso, bianco, blu, giallo, arancia.”

“Verde, rosso, bianco, blu, giallo, arancia, viola.”

He was lost now. “Verde, rosso, bianco, blu, arancia, viola …are there any other colours? Rosa.”

“You left out yellow,” she said without smugness. “I win. I get a prize.”

“What do you want?” This could be interesting.

“I want you to take your boots off, and I want to play another record.”

That was painless enough. His boots were pinching where they tied anyway. He hoped she would pick something not excruciating to play on the turntable.

“How about,” she was flipping through albums, “Neil’s fellow Canadian Joni Mitchell?”

“Joni Mitchell? You couldn’t possibly be as young as you seem.”

“I’m twenty-five, twenty-six next month, how old do I seem?”

“About that,” he admitted. “Joni Mitchell, though?”

“You don’t like Joni?”

“I adore her, but I’m old.”

“How old?”

“Thirty-three.”

“You don’t look a day over thirty-two.”

“Brilliant,” he chuckled and cut his eyes.

He noticed she put it on side B, his favorite of the two. She sat back down and looked at him with a bit of a twinkle.

“Yes?”

“Your hair…”

“A nightmare,” he deadpanned.

“No, it’s quite fetching. It has a…spirit of its own, though.” She put her fingers through the sides. He could tell it had stuck where she had left it He tamped it down and looked at her, mock-annoyed. She was really quite lovely with her ubiquitous smile. He could have leaned over and kissed her just then. He even had a condom in his wallet, proving that perhaps he was an eternal optimist. He didn’t do anything.

She removed her hands, looking slightly self-conscious for the first time in his experience with her. He hadn’t minded her hands at his head.

“I’m one to talk, my hair is ridiculous,” she shook her auburn curls, sprayed to stand up from her head in her performance style. 

“Aren’t we a pair?” he said it instead of singing because Joni was wailing away in the background.

They merged into politics, prompted by one of the songs. She had all the correct stances, but she was less passionate and certainly less active than he was. He was practically a socialist. She cared most about immigration policy for obvious reasons. It was clear that she was highly intelligent, which he hadn’t realized during their past encounters. He had written her off because of her whimsical demeanor. He was a judgmental tosser, apparently. She was witty and bright and delightful.

The familiar jingle bell intro to _River_ sounded, and she bounded up for her ukulele case. “I love this one, I love them all,” she said as she tuned quickly and started picking along. He had never noticed that the song needed ukulele accompaniment, but it wasn’t terrible. He rose awkwardly, his legs close to asleep and took a seat at the piano bench and started plunking along with her.

 _I'm so hard to handle_  
_I'm selfish and I'm sad_  
_Now I've gone and lost the best baby_  
_That I ever had_

He sung out the agony. _Oh, Joni_. He sighed into his playing and singing and closed his eyes.

Nina was singing along as well, perhaps missing some of the nuance in her enthusiasm to reach Joni’s trills. She was more than capable on her instrument, though, and segued right into _A Case of You_ without having to look at music. This was clearly the one that truly spoke to her. She closed _her_ eyes and sang out.

 _Oh but you are in my blood you’re my holy wine_  
_You’re so bitter_  
_Bitter and so sweet…_  
_Oh, I could drink a case of you, Darling_  
_And still I would be on my feet_

_I would still be on my feet._

She perched next to him on the piano bench and picked out the tune on her worn ukulele while he played along. She leaned into him in the end.

“That was wonderful, Jamie.”

“Spent a whole winter at university plunking out the entire album, should be okay.”

“Do you have a piano at your…flat…house?”

“Flat. Yes, nothing quite like this, though.”

The record ended. He had no desire to leave. Instead he dove under the piano again to find something else to play.

“You have this Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young live. This is the one where they tune…

“Yeah, they tune their guitars on stage for _Suite: Judy Blue Eyes_. That’s quite beyond my ability, though.”

“May I?” he asked and she handed over the ukulele. He tuned it to EEBE and tried it out as she put the needle down. It sounded just on. She sat at the bench again and played the intro along on piano, quite expertly.

 _It's getting to the point where I'm no fun anymore_  
_I am sorry_  
_Sometimes it hurts so badly I must cry out loud_  
_I am lonely_  
_I am yours, you are mine, you are what you are_  
_And you make it hard…_

He slipped into the harmony, and she nudged him appreciatively.

“Good on you,” as she played into the next verse. They continued all forty-seven verses into the last bit, singing out the syllables. They sounded nice together, he couldn’t deny it.

“How are you on non-pop offerings?” he asked her, tuning the uke back to its standard setting.

“I’m all right. Up!” She ordered, and he rose so she could collect some sheet music from the bench. She had all the standards. He picked out a tricky Mozart to test her. “Oh, certainly, thanks very much!” she laughed and squinted at the page. “Okay, here we go, _Concerto 21 in C Major_ for piano and ukulele,” she did a quick series of scales, her fingers flying over the keys. “You play the ukulele amazingly well, Jamie. Puts me to shame.”

“You are fine, Nina. It’s a four-stringed instrument. I should hope…”

She started playing, staring at the music. She was wonderful, actually, better than any nonprofessional he had heard since university. The way she pounded out the songs at the club had not revealed how gifted she was on piano.

“Nina,” he said, stopping on the ukulele. “Nina, you can _really_ play. I can see why your grandfather gave you the piano.”

“Thank you!” She stopped and patted his knee. “Well, come on, then,” and she started in again, and he resumed for a moment on the uke, and then put it aside and started playing the piano with her. He decided to start improvising to see if she could follow and she did, brilliantly. He sang the cello, of course, and she was singing the violin over the piano.

They played through a lot of the canon. Her sense of humor was incredibly charming as she minimized their mistakes and made faces as they played. After about an hour they had exhausted her sheet music collection.

“Musical forfeits, Jamie? I think you might win this one,” she suggested.

He agreed but decided to throw it. He was too tired to really concentrate, and her prize last time had been just as pleasant for him. They added on to an improvised phrase and she won in four rounds.

“We dance!”

“Oh, Nina, I’m awful; I can’t dance.”

“Flamenco!” She said and leaped up from the bench into a stance. “Hold on, I need a skirt and castanets.”

“Nina, really, I’m useless at this. May I just watch you?”

“That’s not as fun, Jamie.”

“I promise you it will be.” She dug a ruffled skirt from the small bureau and pulled it on over her denims. She was ferreting around in a trunk for the percussion, unsuccessfully. She finally gave up and fetched two metal spoons from the kitchen.

“Will have to do,” she crawled under the piano again and pulled some albums. She put one on the turntable and _Farruca_ filled the room. She hit her pose, and did a respectable flamenco in her stocking feet. She followed up with _Malaguena_ with full-throated lyrics by both the singer and Nina. She had a flamenco version of the James Bond theme and she was a spoon-playing Bond girl. He was enjoying watching her immensely; she committed fully to every step. He had stretched out on the sofa and was having to fight keeping his eyes open when she put on Ravel’s _Bolero_.

“I know Torvill and Dean’s whole ice dance,” she told him. “I can talk you through it,” she urged.

“I’m so happy just to watch, Nina,” he said through a yawn.

“Suit yourself,” she said, and started in the opening position on her knees. Before Jayne and Chris had fallen into the volcano, he had drifted off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played _Suite Judy Blues_ on ukulele recently for the first time. You do not have to re-tune the way you do on guitar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Nina**

She woke up early, at first light. She was on floor and not very comfortable anyway, and she wasn’t a great sleeper. He was still fast asleep on the sofa. Perhaps he was one of those enviable types that could sleep anywhere for any duration. She had covered him with her white afghan, and he had snuggled into it at some point.

She could not believe he was asleep on her sofa in her flat. Jamie. Jamie! They had played music for hours; he had even complimented her. It was some kind of dream, she was sure.

She rose to make some tea and to sit at the little kitchen table where she could really look at him. She had taken off her denims before she had settled on the floor and was wearing flannel pajama bottoms her sister had given her last Christmas. She supposed she should put her trousers back on, but these were so much more comfortable.

She wasn’t sure if she wanted the kettle to wake him as it hissed with the boiling water. On one hand, she was eager for him to wake and for them to resume whatever it was last night. On the other, he could quickly escape if he wanted to. Sleeping at least he would have to stay on her sofa.

She poured the water in her mug, and the tea bag inflated and rose to the top.

Nina had first seen Jamie about eighteen months ago. Ben had invited her to his brother William’s concert. It was the quartet, and they were playing selections from Bach in the little theater where Nina sometimes practiced with the band.

Her eyes were drawn to Jamie immediately. He had untamed hair and striking features, and he hunched over his cello as if it were his lover. His hands were graceful and deliberate, and the theme of the pieces showed clearly on his face. He was the most beautiful being Nina had ever seen.

“Who is that on cello?” She had whispered to Ben.

“That’s Jamie. His girlfriend is the violist, lucky bastard.”

She had seen the violist, of course, but hadn’t paid much attention to her; in fairness Nina hadn’t paid much attention to anything besides Jamie since the music started.

The violist was stunning. She had long, straight, dark hair and weighed almost nothing. She was wearing a short, black dress that complimented her perfectly. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, but her olive skin glowed. Nina felt clunky and awkward in her work outfit. She had been invited to the after party, and now she wished she could go home and change. Not that she had any chance. She chuckled at herself for being so foolish and settled down to enjoy Jamie’s performance without being distracted by the violist.

They were introduced briefly that night, and Jamie hardly took notice of her. He and the violist, whose name was Pamela, acted very much a couple at the party. Nina was smitten, not just personally, but by his talent and his performance. She started attending concerts whenever she could. She enjoyed the orchestra because she could watch Jamie without Pamela being in her view, but he was harder to see. She never tried to seek him out after; that was a step too far, but she fancied herself a fan if nothing else.

Then by some miracle, the adorable couple broke up. Pamela quit both the quartet and the orchestra, which torpedoed the quartet, but Nina couldn’t bring herself to mourn it that much. Jamie started being around more in their circle, usually with William, usually looking miserable.

She remembered the first time she had seen him in the audience when her band played; he had looked…not quite hostile, but obviously _not_ a fan. She had reacted by going even more over the top, which was her normal method. She was hopeless; it was hopeless. He thought she was ridiculous. She tried to talk to him occasionally, but he would answer in monosyllables and move away quickly.

It was an open secret that she was in love with him, but her friends spared her by not teasing her about it. William was convinced the two were perfect for each other, which gave her a bit of hope although it was sustained by nothing in Jamie’s behaviour.

Somehow William had persuaded him to walk her home, and somehow she had managed to keep him here when he clearly wanted to bolt from the beginning. She was done being the pursuer, though. She decided this as she discarded the tea bag, poured milk into her cup, and took the first exquisite sip of the day. It was now up to him. If he wanted to go, he could go. She was resolved. She immediately thought how easy it would be to go lie on top of him on the sofa, to press herself against him. NO. It was Jamie’s play now.

She finished her tea and decided to put her denims back on with perhaps a quick wash and clean knickers just in case. She looked at herself in her bathroom mirror. Her hair was awful as usual, still sprayed from last night’s performance but wilted now. She didn’t have time for a shower, so she just ran a comb through it and then washed her critical bits. She put on plain, black cotton knickers, and hoped for the best. She took her pill and winked at her reflection. She had a box of condoms in the bureau if things progressed.

She grabbed her book and made another cup of tea. Jamie showed no sign of waking. She was rereading _Jane Eyre_ for the hundredth time and was almost to her favorite part: when Jane and Rochester reveal all of their flaws to the other and still remain desperately in love.

She settled back in her chair with her mug and read for what must have been an hour before she realized Jamie had woken and was sitting up with the afghan around his shoulders.

“Good morning,” she said, smiling at him.

“Good morning, may I use the loo?”

“Of course, through there,” she said, hoping it was tidy enough not to scandalize him. She put the water on in the kettle again and found her least stained mug for him.

He emerged in moments with his hair worked on a bit. She handed him his tea as he walked to the little table.

“I’ll let you add your own milk.”

He put in just a tiny splash, much less than she took.

“Thanks, Nina. Where did you sleep?”

“I took the floor, it was no problem.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Nina, how monstrous of me. You should have woken me and chucked me out.”

“Nonsense. Did you sleep well?”

“Quite. I’m racked with guilt, though.”

She laughed. “Are you hungry? I have a good selection of cold cereal. I could make an egg…”

“Cereal is lovely, thank you.”

She put the boxes on the table and retrieved some bowls and spoons.

He selected the plainest of the choices and added some honey before he poured in the milk. He was a dainty eater while she shoveled it down, suspicious that it might actually be her last meal. She wondered if it was the difference between growing up alone versus aside a brood.

“ _Jane Eyre_ ,” he said neutrally, picking up her book.

“I love it.”

“I don’t think I’ve actually read the whole thing,” he said. "I know we read it…sometime. I think I put it aside with the crazy wife, and romance bollocks.”

She just smiled at him and he stopped talking. He was looking at her in a way that made her stomach flip. _Brush off the table and throw me down. Kiss me across it. Take my hand. Do something._

He didn’t.

She took their empty bowls and spoons and placed them at the sink. She turned to discover he had followed her quietly and was right behind her.

“Nina,” he said in almost a whisper. The sun was streaming in through the kitchen window, one of only two in the flat.

He smiled very nervously, very shyly, she realized. He looked terrified. It melted her. He brushed her hair aside from her face and put his mouth gently against hers. She sunk into the kiss and softly put her hands on each of his hips. He put his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in, opening his mouth, and she responded, tasting the tea and milk. She made a tiny noise against his mouth involuntarily. She was so happy; thrilled at this turn of events. He made a noise from the back of his mouth that sounded like “uhhn,” and closed his mouth, kissing her lips once more as he put his forehead on hers and closed his eyes. He was breathing hard and a bit shakily.

She was giddy, effervescent, elated.

“Jamie,” she said, and she sounded exactly like a little girl who had arrived home to a surprise birthday party. She could hardly contain herself.

It was only about five paces to the sofa, and they stumbled their way to it. Then she was sitting almost on top of him, facing him. She started to put her hands under his jumper in the back, and realized he had a vest on underneath tucked into his trousers. She wasn’t quite bold enough to untuck it so she could run her hands over his back. He was kissing her again, deeply, and caressing her hair. He moved one hand down and put it over her arse, pushing her closer to him. She could feel his erection between them and it made her flutter again. She put her arms around his neck and lay backward, pulling him with her, on top of her.

They adjusted to their new position, and she put her hands on his jumper again, pulling it up. He stopped to help and immediately became tangled in jumper, and vest, and arms. He looked quite helpless when he finally emerged, and she laughed, she couldn’t help it. It seemed to ease the tension he apparently felt. They were sitting against each other again. He pulled her jumper up and she took it and lay it beside the sofa, and he looked at her.

Her bra was nothing special, she would have changed, but they were kept in a drawer by his head where he had been sleeping, and retrieving a nicer one would have surely woken him up. The knickers had been in a laundry basket. So here she was stuck in her beige bra that had been washed a hundred times. He didn’t seem to mind.

“Nina, you are lovely,” he said, reached around, and struggled with the clasp.

“Damn,” he muttered. She reached behind her back and undid the hooks easily and kissed him on the cheek. She could tell he was annoyed with himself, but she found his bumbling utterly charming. He had been with Pamela for years and had probably removed her bra hundreds of times. (Nina didn’t really want to dwell on this.) That he was struggling because of nerves, or whatever it was made her want him even more.

He removed the bra down her arms and clasped her tightly to him so their bare chests were pressed together. He held her tightly and had his face right by her ear.

He made a shuddering noise and then brought a hand between them to cover her right breast. She leaned her head back and he kissed her neck and then brought his mouth down to her breasts and took the right on into his mouth.

She wished she had a real bed. It would completely destroy the mood at this point to fold out the sofa, so they would have to make do on the narrow surface. She had done it before, and it wasn’t fantastic. The cushions made them sink too low and didn’t offer much of a stable surface. She wondered what his bed was like. She hoped she would find out very soon.

She was eager and anxious, and she boldly unbuttoned the top of her trousers and slid them off. She hoped it wasn’t too forward. He put her worries aside by removing his own to reveal plaid boxers that she usually associated with grandfathers. They were quite adorable on him, and she managed not to laugh, as she feared it would be misinterpreted.

“I have a…” she began.

“I have one,” he answered and dug into the pocket of his trousers. The foil packet was between credit cards in his wallet, but it looked fairly new.

She had been on the pill for years but with the sexual climate lately everyone was rightfully terrified. She had been relying on condoms as well for at least the past two years.

Nina hadn’t had a horde of lovers, anyway, and very few serious relationships. Her last one had occurred during her final year at university, spent in Spain. She had realized that while she had considered him her boyfriend, he’d had a string of others she didn’t know about. She had stuck to more casual arrangements since. And mostly, she hadn’t met anyone worth that much of her time.

She generally enjoyed sex, but she rarely understood the importance some people placed on it. It was fun and often exciting, but she would rather sing and kiss if she had to choose.

Jamie shucked his boxers. His cock was as beautiful as he was, and she gasped.

“Oh, I love it!” She said and clasped her hand over her mouth. He chuckled.

“That’s lovely,” he said. He was fumbling with the condom in the package.

“May I?” she asked.

“Of course.”

She took it out of the package and started to roll it on him. Her hands were shaking just a bit, and she breathed and sent her hand down his length as the latex covered him. He let out an encouraging moan as her hand clasped him tightly, and then she lay back and smiled at him.

He realized just the that her knickers were still on, and he seemed exasperated with himself. He sighed deeply, and then grasped them on both sides and pulled them down her legs. He kissed the top of her pubic hair on the way up and then put his hand between her legs. She was quite wet, and she hoped it would flatter him. He was looking her dead in the eyes as he put one finger inside her and then removed it, and using her wetness, swirled it around her clitoris, which immediately made her arch her back and open her legs wider.

She pulled on his shoulders, encouraging him, and he rose up again and placed his cock against her opening.

“Yes, Jamie,” she said, and then felt like she must sound ridiculous.

He pushed in gingerly, and she melted around him as he filled her. She relaxed completely against the sofa and breathed in and out. She almost felt like crying. It was perfect; he was perfect. He started moving in her, and she clung to him.

“Oh, Jamie.” She whispered and felt as if she should probably contain herself, but it was so difficult. He seemed lost in the moment, anyway, so she let herself go.

“I love this, Jamie,” she said in his ear.

“Nina,” he whispered. “Nina.”

He started moving faster. She was feeling very pleasured, but she wasn’t going to come imminently, and she realized she didn’t care very much at the moment. She clinched herself around him as she could sense he was close to undone. His breathing became quite ragged as he really thrust into her and came with a quiet roar, his face pressed against her neck. She pulled him in as close as possible and enjoyed his shuddering contractions against her as his orgasm waned.

He pulled out and tied off the condom in about three motions, no longer fumbling at all, and discarded it to the floor. He took charge, kissing down her chest, sucking each nipple in turn while kneading his fingers inside her and around, inside and around. Her hands were digging through his hair in surprise and delight.

His mouth continued to roam to her naval, through her pubic hair, to her center where he planted himself as if he’d reached his home. He swirled her with his tongue while he fucked her with one and then two fingers. She was left without coherent thought. Men had gone down on her before, but never like this. It always seemed a perfunctory gesture; one to get through and then arrive at the main event. She had never come through oral sex; she had very rarely come during sex at all. Sometimes, someone especially dexterous had managed to get her there via hand job, but most of her sexual pleasure had been through solo endeavors.

This was something entirely new. She felt herself lifting higher and higher on his hand and mouth. A tiny voice in her head told her to be self-conscious about the whole thing, but it was forcefully out ruled by the rest of her body that had never been more excited.

She came, almost too soon, she could have spent longer under his control, vocalizing the sensations loudly.

“Ahhhhhhh-haaaaaaaaaaaa-haaaaaaaaaaaaa-ahhhhhhhhhh, Jamie!” She threw her head back as he eased up and lay on her, putting most of his weight on the side of the sofa.

“Oh. My. God.” She gasped at him incredulously. He was singing softly, smiling at her.

_Out of all those kinds of people  
You got a face with a view_

She joined him and sang out. His voice was soft, lovely, exactly what hers wasn’t, but when they sang together, it was somehow perfect, the ideal voice.

 _I'm just an animal looking for a home_  
_And share the same space for a minute or two_  
_And you love me till my heart stops_  
_Love me till I'm dead_

 _Eyes that light up_  
_Eyes look through you_  
_Cover up the blank spots_  
_Hit me on the head_


End file.
